by Linda Benson
Sahara flinched, but forced herself to meet the gaze steadily, unsure of what to expect.
Finally, as if satisfied, the woman motioned toward the back of the small room, filled with shadows. “Come here, girl,” she said. “Let us look.”
Sahara let Evan go first.
The roof of the small hovel sloped sharply towards the back, and Evan ducked his tall frame to fit. Sahara trod carefully on the uneven floor. She followed the lantern light as the woman cast it toward the back wall. Sahara gasped in surprise.
Books. Shelves and shelves of ancient books standing upright, leaning against each other. More books piled in stacks leaning unevenly against the stone walls. The air was heavy with dust and a moldy smell, and Sahara covered her nose and mouth with one hand, keeping the other on the wall for balance. Sahara had never imagined so many books existed in one place.
Evan grinned at her. “My aunt is Keeper of the Books,” he whispered.
Sahara nodded, mute with surprise.
The old woman ran her bony fingers lovingly over the faded covers. “This is the one,” she croaked, pulling it carefully from the shelf and handing it to Sahara like an offering.
Sahara reached gingerly for the book. Its cover was crooked, the back held together by string. She traced her fingers over the markings on the front. They were worn and hard to decipher. She held the book in front of her, catching the light against its surface, wishing she could understand what the letters meant.
“What does it say?”
The old woman knew the answer without looking. “Horse Training.”
Chapter Ten
Can a horse be trained? Is it possible? But they are wild creatures, faster than the fleeing deer, impossible to catch, gone at the first sight of humans. Even in her dreams, they trembled at her touch.
Sahara held the book cautiously, unsure what to do next. The woman, Evan’s aunt, seemed to sense her discomfort.
“Go and sit,” she croaked, motioning to the chair. “More comfortable.”
As if holding valuable treasure, Sahara settled herself in the chair. The book was so old it was falling apart. As she opened the cover, the first page crumpled into a heap of small pieces. She glanced up in horror.
“Careful,” Evan said.
Sahara nodded, then willed herself to caution. She turned each page slowly, with great care. Many were filled with words. Sahara glanced at these but kept going. Soon she came to drawings and pictures. She saw a horse standing perfectly still, while a man adjusted equipment on its back. A large leather seat, with a blanket underneath, rested on the horse’s back, held down by straps under the creature’s belly. Several pages later, the pictures showed a man astride a horse, just like in her dreams. The horse and rider were making turns to the left, turns to the right, even backing up.
Sahara looked toward the back of the book. A horse again, this time hooked to a large cart with straps and harness, similar to what she used on Banner and Blitz. Could horses be used to pull their recycled goods? Surely they could pull more weight than the dogs. Sahara had a hard time concentrating on just one picture. She wanted to study all of them, understand, learn. Had people from the past, before the Dark Days, before the famine and sickness, actually done these things with horses? Were her dreams real, not something she had invented in her head? Were they memories? And why would these dreams come to her, a girl from the Trader’s Clan?
Sahara was so absorbed in the pictures and images that she scarcely noticed Evan, who had crept closer to look over her shoulder. Now, sensing his presence, she stole a glance backward.
He looked serious, puzzled. “You have dreamed these things?” he asked, pointing to the pages in the book.
“No, not exactly. Not how to do these things. I only dreamed of being on a horse’s back. How it felt when it was running.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “The wind in my face, the feeling of floating, going so fast it felt like flying.”
“Like a memory?”
“How could it be a memory?” She shook her head in disbelief. “If it’s true that people did ride horses in the past, how could I have these memories?”
The old woman, Evan’s aunt, had been silent throughout this whole conversation. Now she stood, her fragile body clinging to the warmth of the fire. “Perhaps the memory has been in you always. Perhaps you were born with it. Perhaps it shows up now for a reason.”
“What reason?”
Her answer, if any, was lost to the commotion below. Shouts and hurried commands echoed through the night. The sound of dogs pursuing a quarry raised an eerie prickle on the back of Sahara’s neck. Carefully setting the book down, she rushed to the door of the small dwelling, where Evan peered into the darkness.
“What is it?”
“It sounds like Dojo, and it looks like a group of hunters.”
Sahara pushed past him, trying to see. She heard the frantic voices of dogs, and saw torch lights moving quickly down the valley.
“They have gathered the chase hounds for a hunt,” said Evan. “He has been boasting all over camp about going after the horses.”
“No!” cried Sahara, her heart racing. “We have to stop them.”
Evan shook his head. “I tried to tell him…”
But Sahara was not listening. Pictures from the book still swam in her head.
Now she knew her dreams were not fantasies — things she had imagined. Humans had ridden horses. Humans had trained horses. There was a book to prove it. They must not hunt them. They must not kill them. She had to stop Dojo. Without thinking of a plan, she pried the creaky door all the way open and rushed headlong down the steep hillside into the night.
Chapter Eleven
SAHARA STUMBLED ON THE sharp stones. Brushing herself off, she kept a brisk pace, treading more cautiously. The light was nearly gone, and she had to hurry. She heard the keen baying of the dogs below. She knew what the chase hounds could do: drive their quarry to exhaustion, until the hunters arrived with arrows, spears, and knives. What if there were young horses — or babies, like in her dream? They would be no match for the long-legged hounds.
A rain of pebbles slid past her. Evan had followed her down the rock-strewn slope. She stole a glance at him, and broke into a run.
“Wait, Sahara,” he called, but she plunged ahead. She must catch up with the hunters!
Evan’s legs were longer, and Sahara’s breath came in ragged gasps when he reached her. “Slow down, girl,” he began.
“I have to tell them,” she cried, grasping her side, wincing from lack of air.
“Tell them what? About your dreams of horses?”
She stopped and faced him. “Yes.”
“And you think they will believe you?” Evan asked. “In the middle of this large, organized hunt, with the camp chase dogs, you think they will care about a girl’s dreams?”
“Then I’ll tell them about the book.”
“You mean this book?” Evan reached into his jacket. Tucked into a pocket was the ancient book about horse training. The book that proved her dreams were real.
“Yes. That book.” She grinned. “I forgot it. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, madam.” He bowed elaborately.
Sahara giggled, despite the sharp pain in her side.
Evan turned serious. “It always helps to have a plan.”
“Shouldn’t we just keep moving, and figure out the plan while we go?”
The hunters seemed further ahead now. They were headed west, toward the spot where Sahara had first glimpsed the horses several days ago, on the trail from their previous camp. The dog’s anxious voices carried through the night.
“I don’t think we will catch them so easily,” he said. “If the dogs pick up the horses’ scent, they might run for hours. But I have another idea.”
“What?”
“I know where the horses have been sleeping at night.”
Sahara’s eyes widened.
“It’s on the other side of camp. A small, prote
cted stand of alders above a deep pool of azure water.”
“How do you know this?” Sahara asked.
“I found them by accident. I herded the goats one afternoon across a high ridge, searching for new grass. I saw the horses in the valley below. I stayed on the ridge, and watched them for hours,” said Evan.
“And they didn’t run?” asked Sahara.
“My scent blends with the goats,” he said, chuckling, “and the horses showed no fear. I stayed until nearly nightfall, and watched them climb the next ridge and bed down. They are exquisite creatures.”
Sahara nodded. “And you think they will be there tonight?”
“They have this year’s young with them. They have made short forays out onto the plains during the day. But they come back to the alder grove each evening. It’s well protected.”
“Unless the dogs find them.”
“Hopefully we can reach them first,” said Evan.
“How far is it?”
“Several miles.” Evan pointed across a ridge to the north. “But we can travel straight there. The hunters will have to backtrack on the trail from the west, until the dogs pick up the scent. We have time to get jackets and food. The evening will be cool.”
“But what about my sister?” Stopping at the camp, for any reason, did not sound like a good idea to Sahara. “Laurel will be upset when she finds I’ve been gone, and she will never allow me to go after the horses.”
“I will talk to her,” said Evan. “Maybe I can help.”
The camp was abuzz with excitement. Sahara heard the words: Dojo, horses, dogs. How did Dojo get the use of the chase dogs? How did he convince other hunters to go after the horses? No matter. It was up to her, with Evan’s help, to stop them. No one noticed Sahara and Evan slink up the trail from behind the goat barn.
Evan stopped at his small hut and gathered food and warm clothes. He left his young apprentice, Ulu, in charge. Evan and Sahara stole quietly through the permanent part of the camp, heading for the tents of Trader’s Clan set up on the outskirts.
Laurel spotted them right away. “Where have you been, sister? With all the commotion, I could not find you.”
“I — I’ve been…”
“She’s been with me,” Evan said. “I took her to meet my aunt, who lives alone on the hill above camp.” Evan gestured up the rugged hillside.
Laurel looked from one to the other of them. When she finally turned to face Sahara, her words came out rushed and full of worry. “Well, you are needed here,” she said. “Grandfather is having a bad spell tonight. He became weak on the way back from supper.” Laurel frowned. “And I don’t know what’s come over your dog, Banner. She would not eat, and just lies in the tent.”
Banner was always hungry. Something must be wrong. “Is she sick? Do you think she might have the dog distemper? What about her pups?”
Banner’s pups would be important to the Trader’s Clan when they arrived. Good pulling dogs were in short supply. But surely she wasn’t due to whelp yet?
Sahara glanced up at Evan, who held food and supplies, as well as the ancient book about horses, under his jacket. They were in such a hurry, but how could they leave now?
Sahara ducked under the tent flap. Banner lay still and listless next to her cot. “It’s okay, girl. You’ll be just fine,” she crooned, trying to convince herself.
“Maybe you should stay with her,” said Evan.
“But — ”
“But right now, you need to go to Grandfather’s tent,” said Laurel, always the bossy one. “Go now. I’ll dish you a bowl of broth.”
Sahara’s feelings tangled in her gut. Everything was going wrong. For every minute that they dawdled in camp, Dojo and the hunters advanced ever closer to their prey.
Chapter Twelve
WHILE LAUREL FETCHED THE BROTH, Sahara knelt with Banner in the corner of the tent, stroking her soft muzzle. Banner would not raise her head and only whimpered slightly. Sahara tucked an armful of dried grass around her dog, trying to make her comfortable.
“Would you watch her for a bit?” Sahara turned with pleading eyes towards her older sister.
“I’ll watch her,” said Laurel, “although it’s you she whines for.” She held out a bowl. “Maybe this will suit Grandfather. He wasn’t able to keep his dinner down, and he’s feverish. He asked for you.”
Sahara nodded once and headed toward Grandfather’s tent, balancing the hot bowl so it would not spill. Why was everything so complicated? Maybe she could have caught up to Dojo by now, if Evan hadn’t stopped her. She could already have made him understand that he must call off the hunt.
“Sahara, wait.” Evan was hot on her heels.
“What?” She turned to face him. “I need to hurry.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She nodded mutely. Ducking through the flap of Grandfather’s tent, the air smelled stale. She saw him lying prone on his cot, blankets pulled tight.
“Grandfather,” she called out.
He raised his head. “Hello, child,” he said in a raspy voice.
She knelt beside him, inhaling his dear old-man scent. “I have brought you some broth. Would you try a little?”
Grandfather shook his head. He seemed so weak, it bothered Sahara. But in her presence, he seemed to gather his strength. “Been up to the old woman’s hut, have you?”
Sahara nodded. “How did you know?”
“Seekers of knowledge — such as you,” he said, “will always find a way.” He coughed, exhausted with the exertion of talking. Then, with a wry smile, he gestured to the tent flap. “Also, I saw you climbing the hill with her nephew.”
Sahara turned. Evan was standing hesitantly in the doorway.
“Grandfather, the old woman had a book.”
“Yes, I know. Lots of books.” He nodded, his breath appearing to catch in his chest. “Keeper of the Books, they call her. No one seems to care about books anymore.”
“But she had one about horses,” said Sahara. “It showed a man riding astride, like you talked about. Just like I dreamed. And he was making the horse obey him, go this way and that. Do you want to see it?”
“Not just now,” said Grandfather. He lay back down on his blankets. His voice was so weak she barely caught what he said. “Sit here with me a bit.” He patted the bedside. Sahara was eager to be off, but Grandfather’s frailty startled her.
He seemed to be speaking, but she had to bend her head to catch the words. “You must tell them,” he whispered. “You are the one that must tell the hunters.”
Sahara nodded. How did Grandfather know? “Evan and I are going,” she whispered. “Tonight.”
Grandfather rolled over on his side, drifting into sleep. She was not sure whether he even heard her. How can I ever explain this to Laurel? she thought, as Grandfather’s breathing grew deep and rhythmic. I must go…now!
Evan moved cautiously into the tent behind her, as if reading her mind. “Perhaps you should stay here.” he said. “I can go. I know where the alder grove is.” He patted his jacket. “And I have the book. I can show Dojo the pictures.”
Suddenly the plan seemed so foolhardy. How could Evan possibly reach the hunters and make them understand? And what did Evan know of horses being used by humans? He had seen the book, but he was not the one that dreamed of horses.
“No, I must go with you,” said Sahara quickly.
Sahara was still trying to digest the information she had seen in the book. A horse with straps around its head and a leather seat on its back. Someone controlling it. But how did they catch the horse to begin with? When she had dreamed of horses, it seemed so real, so possible. But here in the dark, she started to doubt herself. Still, Grandfather said she must go. He believed in her.
Carrying that thought, she stepped back into the cool night. “Wait for me here,” she said to Evan. “I won’t be long.” She walked quickly back to her own campfire.
“Did Grandfather eat the broth?” her sister asked. “How
did he seem?”
“Very weak. He ate nothing, but he spoke to me a little. Now he seems to be sleeping again.” Sahara wanted to tell her sister what he had said. She intended to tell her they were going after the hunters, going to save the horses. But at the last minute, the words did not come out.
“Your dog lapped a few sips of broth,” said Laurel. “Maybe there is nothing really wrong with her, and it was only the sound of the chase dogs that upset her. Did you know Dojo is leading a hunt with them? You should feel proud.” Laurel’s eyes sparkled.
Proud? Sahara shuddered. No, I’m trying to stop the hunt. She bit her bottom lip to keep from spilling her secret.
“I will go and stay with Grandfather for the evening” said Laurel, unraveling the long strands of her braid and pulling her wrap close. “You can spell me in the morning.”
“All right.” Sahara nodded. Laurel would be gone for the entire evening. Sahara peeked into the tent. Banner was sleeping peacefully in the corner. Blitz, waiting by the door, licked her hand. “Shh,” she said. “Stay here.”
Sahara hated to leave her dog. And she had never disobeyed Laurel. But Laurel had not told her to stay in camp. Surely it would be all right to leave, as long as she returned by morning. Besides, Grandfather had said she should go. That she should tell the hunters. Silently, she grabbed a warm jacket and snuck back out to the trail where Evan waited.
Chapter Thirteen
“HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE US?” asked Sahara. Evan was ahead of her and she was trying to match him stride for stride, but it was difficult.
“In the daylight I can make the trip quickly. But we must go more carefully in the dark,” he said. “One hour. Maybe two.”
Sahara panted to keep up. She heard no chase dogs now. They had vanished with the hunters into the night. She hoped that Evan was right about the horses. Hopefully they still bedded in the place where he had seen them. Otherwise the hunters might catch them before they ever arrived, or follow them in a different direction altogether.
Sahara startled at a rushing sound behind her. Who was following them? Someone was running hard, breathing heavily, to catch up. As Sahara peered down the path, a small boy emerged from the shadows.